“How?”
“The deed description.”
“Old tax records show twelve acres.”
“Recent county map shows eight-point-seven.”
“Boundary shifted.”
“Who benefits?”
“That’s what I was trying to understand.”
Voss wrote.
“Anything else?”
“Ruth paid property tax on twelve acres until three years ago.”
“Then?”
“Assessment changed.”
“Did she challenge it?”
“I found two letters.”
“To?”
“County assessor.”
“Response?”
“None attached.”
Voss looked up.
“Did you find any correspondence with Sheriff Mullen?”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“Did Sheriff Mullen know you were researching the property?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Voss stopped writing.
Michael continued.
“She stopped me outside the courthouse last Tuesday.”
“What did she say?”
“Asked whether settling Ruth’s estate was becoming complicated.”
“Your response?”
“I asked why she cared.”
“She said small-town property files confuse outsiders.”
Voss’s pen stopped.
“Outsider.”
“Yes.”
“You grew up here.”
“I reminded her.”
“What did she say?”
“That was a long time ago.”
Voss leaned back.
Michael looked toward Lana.
She was giving a statement to another investigator.
Then she looked over.
Their eyes met.
Her face went pale again.
She walked toward them.
The investigator beside her followed.
“Mr. Voss…”
Voss turned.
“What?”
Lana looked at Michael.
“I need to tell him something.”
Voss motioned.
“Sit.”
She did.
Her hands clasped together.
“Michael, Ruth came here.”
Michael frowned.
“She ate here all the time.”
“No.”
Lana shook her head.
“I mean before she died.”
“How long?”
“Maybe five weeks.”
Michael stared.
Ruth had died six weeks earlier.
“What happened?”
“She was scared.”
Michael’s chest tightened.
“Scared of what?”
“She asked about the security camera.”
Voss leaned forward.
“What specifically?”
“If it could see the parking lot.”
Michael said:
“Why?”
Lana looked toward the front windows.
“She thought someone was following her.”
The diner disappeared around him.
Michael heard only that sentence.
Someone was following Ruth.
His sister had lived alone.
Widowed.
Seventy-two.
Stubborn.
Private.
She had told Michael she was fine every Sunday on the phone.
Always fine.
Even when her arthritis worsened.
Even after a minor car accident.
Even when she fell on the back steps and hid the bruises until a neighbor told him.
Ruth treated worry as an inconvenience she could spare other people.
Michael whispered:
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“What car?”